


Back there again

by Cherries_and_bearbees



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hobbits are badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherries_and_bearbees/pseuds/Cherries_and_bearbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fell Winter ravages the Shire, reducing the hobbits back to roaming Middle-Earth. But Yvanna watches over her little folk, and a prophecy is laid down, promising to recover their lands.<br/>Meanwhile, Erebor never fell. But Angmar's stirring has caused much damage to the kingdom, costing Thorin his brother and grandfather. Finding himself quite bored under the reign of his father, who forbids him to make even a single step out of the mountain, he wishes to prove himself and is thinking of doing something reckless.</p>
<p>And then, a company of hobbits comes forth, Bilbo Baggins being their leader. And Mahal's folk find themselves involved in an adventure to save the Shire from Azog's clutches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is some wild idea I got from reading too many fan fictions and seeing ideas on the hobbit kink meme. I have an ending planned...now it is to get there. Warning: this is not beta-read, so if there are any mistakes, those are mine.  
> I hope you enjoy this madness and thank you for reading!

# Prologue

 

The Fell Winter had been cruel to the hobbits. For hobbits were a peaceful folk and although they could have been prepared for the harshness of the winter, they could not prepare themselves for what crossed the frozen Brandybuck River. Orcs, wargs and wolves descended upon the rolling hills of the Shire, showing no mercy for whatever lived in those parts of Middle Earth.

Many died that winter, more than the hobbits dare to admit. Many great families fell, one of them being the Tooks. Tooks were the adventurous ones among their kind, those who dared to set a foot outside of their door and do not fear to wander. But even so, they were no warriors and fell thus first in the battle. The Brandybucks were all slain for a few who had stayed in Hobbiton with their families. The Bracegirdles, the Bagginses and the Gamgees suffered great blows as well, followed by the Underhills, the Proudfoot, the Bolgers, the Grubbs, the Stoors and so many more were erased from the charts.

A name, of a pale orc, came forward. He was one of the cruelest, slyest and most intelligent of his kind. His name was Azog the Defiler and bore his title well. For he defiled all he found on his path, his own kind or enemy. He was merciless and enjoyed torture and pain more than ale or flesh. When he settled in Hobbiton, he called forth champions of the Hobbits.

“I shall release your lands and leave to never return if you can beat me!” he would cry.

Five, ten, fifteen hobbits dared to come forth. But one after the other was slain and their heads set on spikes for the world to see. And Azog laughed and ordered for all the smials and houses to burn, the hobbits to be enslaved or killed.

 

Those who managed to escape cried for help in Ered Luin, in Bree. But nor the dwarrows, nor men would listen to their calls for help. The elves were those who answered, but not enough for their kind. The survivors of the Fell Winter were allowed shelter and food until Spring came back. But they did not help them recover their homeland, nor were they allowed to stay in Duillond or Celondim. And the doors to the halls in the Blue Mountains remained shut to the small folk.

The Days of Wandering started anew for the hobbits. Long was their trekking, immensely painful for them. For they had lived upon livestock and farms, hunting being only a small part in their culture. They had lost their tools and unlike Men, who could impose themselves, or Dwarrows who could make fires out of not much, the hobbits could not make new tools for themselves. So they slaved away, willing to sacrifice all they had for their people to live. Many disappeared in the hands of crueler beings who were not necessarily siding with the orcs. Others starved or died from wounds and miscarriage. And some vanished, to return to their darker origins, as some older ones whispered.

 

But Yvanna, their guide and creator, had not forgotten about her people. She bore a grudge towards her husband Aulë’s creation for letting her kind suffer, but managed to come to a compromise. A prophecy was laid down, a promise for the little folk. Aulë’s creation would come to help that of Yvanna in the most unlikely way - but the words were quickly forgotten and only remained in myths and in the back of the hobbits’ mind, like a dream. But it was not forgotten and held up as a beacon of hope until their people could gather the strength to take their homeland back.

 

Hobbits learned, albeit slowly, of the world outside. And even though they did not lose their kindness, spirit or goodnatured souls, they did become fighters of a greater kind. For dwarrows were powerful, men were crafty and elves quick, hobbits were enduring. They endured everything, surviving through the worst. Their crafts in herbal remedies, healing, weaponry and strategy augmented, rivaling that of the other races in their own ways. And when once they were only known to be able to make things grow, they learned to listen. And the earth spoke to them, as much as stone spoke to dwarrows and trees to elves and time to humans. It became their strongest ally in the times of need. It would feed them, hide them, teach them all they needed to know.

And slowly, the shire-folk found a place to stay, south of Mirkwood, outside of Rohan’s borders. It was a dry land there, far from resembling their old homeland. But no one claimed it, so they took it. They built once more, fortifying their houses and villages. And eventually, farms appeared once more, where harder labor was asked than in the past. The land was not generous, despite them listening to it - wars and time had ruined it. But it was the only place where humans would not chase them out, where elves would not look down upon them and dwarrows to ignore them. It became a closed up little kingdom, the old ways forgotten. Thains were dreams and memories of better times, a king and a guard needed to reassure the people that they would be safe.

 

It was a Baggins that became King. He had been a kind hearted man, strong willed and just, who liked good food, loyalty and hard work. He never hesitated to help on the fields and had never shied away from a foe. When spiders came, legend says that he used the new found hobbit skills to have the forest listen to his orders and kill the creatures. And when a small skirmish of goblins and wargs had appeared, he had cut the head of their leader, making it sail yards away, in a hole. People would claim it was a Took general, but it did not matter what the truth was. Bagginses became the royal family of the New Shire.

And things settled back in an old rhythm, interrupted by soldiers patrolling around, so to keep an eye out for eventual enemies and far more bigger folk visiting them to trade. But it was good and thus Yvanna allowed them their rest.

 

 


	2. Of Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What meanwhile happens with Mahal's folk in Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos! I'm kind of overwhelmed by the response my previous chapter got. Well, I hope I won't disappoint you in the future.
> 
> This chapter is a tad boring I would guess. And I will warn you ahead for any possible triggering, considering some nasty war stuff is mentioned. Should I add that to the tags? 
> 
> Once again, if there are any mistakes, those are mine.

# I. Of Erebor

 

The kingdom of Erebor was grand, rich and magnificent. The halls were tall, covered in semi-precious stones, copper lines and intricate carvings. Statues of the old kings, of the Seven Fathers were aligned around the marketplace, Durin the First guarding the royal palace. The dwarrow and the humans in the city of Dale prospered side by side for centuries, their alliance so strong that it would never fail.

The mines were rich, the gold and other treasures abundant. The army was strong, but wisdom was even stronger in Erebor, for the finer crafts of recording, accounting and study were not forgotten. The library rivaled that of the elven kingdoms by name and the scholars were sent throughout the world to seek more knowledge.

 

The Durin line, the royal family, was strong and healthy. King Thror, dwarf of renown for his exploits in Khazad-dum, was at the end of his age, but still strong. Everyday, he would visit the crafting areas and encourage any possible worker in the kingdom under the mountain he met. He would allow the poor to ask for council, for justice and would not consider any injustice as solution, no matter what the cost.

It was something he taught to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

He was blessed with a single son. His wife could not handle another birth, but the feast that followed the creation of his heir Thrain was grandiose and full of joy. Neither in the couple regretted that Thrain had no siblings, for he chose his shield-brothers with care. He married one of them, a warrior dwarrowdam who broke every single rule that could be possibly related on how to act in the presence of royalty. But the dwarf was besotted with her, for she grounded him and taught him love and the value of family in the battles of Khazad-Dum. She was not beautiful, but she had grace and a grand presence, worthy of a queen.

 

From this union were born three siblings. Dis, the eldest, became a beautiful dwarrowdam with great political influence. Frerin was the middle brother, blond like his mother and a great warrior just like her. And then came Thorin, who was so much like his grandfather, whose birth was the start of his mother’s fading from life. And before he reached the age of twenty, old enough to remember her, she died with a smile on her lips.

Lord Thrain declared that he would never take the throne and would offer it to the brother he’d deem the most worthy if that day would come.

 

And then Carn Dum in Angmar awoke. A great war came from it, almost bringing the dwarrow down. They overcame it, stronger than ever - but at a great price. It was not a victory that allowed them to sing, to feast upon. The price had been too high, the blood spilled too thick to be washed off the hands of the soldiers.

Frerin, son of Thrain, son of Thror had been lost. Vili, son of Nali, husband of Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror had been slaughtered. Fundin, father of Balin and Dwalin Fundinson had gone missing and his corpse was found later in a field, hanging like a scarecrow, skin ripped off. Hori, father of three sons, one of Frerin’s closest friends and strongest soldier of Erebor had been killed in an ambush. Lord Thrain, forced upon the throne, mourned with his family. Dis was overcome with grief and Thorin could not take the throne in his stead, for he was too young.

King Thrain became King under the Mountain and tried his best to follow his father in his footsteps. After a mere ten years of reign, he was called Thrain the Beloved and would keep his title until his death.

 

In the battles against Angmar, the dwarros and humans found themselves strange allies. They never saw them truly, for they acted in the midst of night. But they found sometimes food, weapons, or even guards assassinated at the doors of the fortresses they ran over. It made things better and the mystery soldiers were carved down in Erebor’s history. But no one found out who or what those hidden allies were and remained one of the greatest mysteries of those times.

 

Their relationships with neighbouring kingdoms were prosperous. The city of Dale and their king Bard, was the main source of food for the dwarrow. In exchange for gold, gems, goods and services, the men were ready to cultivate for two. Their grounds had a rich soil, that could produce the fattest grain and the greenest vegetables imagineable, seemingly to never run  dry.   
The two other closest neighbors were the Iron Hills, where a cousin of the Durin line reigned, and Mirkwood. Between the dwarrow there was only peace, no matter the circumstances. But between the elves and them, there were a few hitches here and there, if not because of the heavy history that both races carried, but also because of painful culture clashes. Thror’s hard work with Thranduil to keep the peace between their people had been hard won, and Thrain wished to keep it so, making sure that elves and dwarrow worked together. Both people races learned from those relationships, no matter how much they wished to deny it. And one could say that this was one of the greatest times of peace for the First Born and Mahal’s folk.

 

In those decades, King Thrain and his family grew strong once more. His eldest, Lady Dis, had born two sons, the oldest too young to know his sire, the youngest never seen him in flesh for he hadn’t been born yet before the battles of Angmar. Fili and Kili were of good health and fierce in mind and spirit.

 

Thorin meanwhile, was kept inside of the Mountain, barely allowed to set a foot outside. His father feared to lose his last male heir and son so much that he would not see him out of his sight. A cousin, named Dwalin, brother to the king’s favorite advisor, Balin, was ordered to keep watch over the crown prince. This decision ensued into fierce fights between father and son. But no matter what was said or done, Thrain would not go back on his decision.

“What would I to do if I see my last son die as well because of my own carelessness?” was his last argument.

He had looked tired that evening, sitting on a chair that his wife had favored when she had been still alive. The royal apartments looked empty without her, and once more, the Durin line regretted her presence. No doubt she would have bashed both their skulls in for being such stubborn and rude numbskulls, but it was better than ending up looking around in hope to get a ghost plead in their individual favor.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with that, my son. Please, allow me this one favor.”

And Thorin never dared to say another word about this argument out loud again. But he started plotting, trying to find opportunities to leave the mountain. But as his father kept on refusing, the more reckless he became and the bolder as well.

But when the crown prince was brought back from his almost successful attempt of escape, where he nearly managed to leave his escort behind, Thrain knew that he could no longer keep hold over his son.

  
It was in those ages that the hobbits started to stir once more. Because the thrush had started knocking at the green door of the king’s house.


	3. Of small visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us meet the hobbits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thank you for all the kudos and the comments! I apologize for the mistake I made in the previous chapter and hand out cookies to the one who pointed it out to me. 
> 
> I will give a warning for this chapter as well. The 'misnaming' of the hobbit Drogo is done on purpose. I almost kept him as a Baggins and then decided against it. We already have enough of the family in the story and decided that I could allow a change of family, considering this is an Alternate Universe after all.  
> And of course, any possible errors in this story are mine.

# II. Of small visitors

 

King Thrain stared at the four little figures that stood before him. Brightly dressed, curly hair on top of their heads and their beards on their oversized feet, they looked like children in his eyes. But their eyes shone with such determination, one of them sporting a long scar over his cheek, no doubt made by a nasty blade, that he cannot mistake them for underaged beings.

“Hobbits.” breathed Thorin, who was standing next to him.

One of them started to lean back and forwards on his heels, grinning widely. He had a perk nose and was the thinnest of the bunch.

“Yep. That we are.”

A rounder one, with a more elaborate waistcoat and cleaner pants, elbowed him in the side, rather harshly so.

“Fortinbras! Manners!”

The one called out shrugged and then they bowed all four together. The noble looking one spoke for them and Thrain smiled, amused by their manners. It was refreshing and it got him curious as of why the recluse race of hobbits would come to the Lonely Mountain.

“King Thrain, son of Thror, we thank you for your warm welcome. Our leader is not here present yet, but I speak in his name.”

“Your kind has brought us many questions to our scribes and librarians.” the king answered pleasantly. “We have naught but one book that mentions you, fighting orcs in the old times. But please, give us your names.”

The thin one looked up first.

“Fortinbras Took, at your service!”

A shy looking one with large blue eyes and copper curls smiled at the king next.

“Hamfast Gamgee, m’lord. At yer service.”

The youngest one followed, the one with the scar. But despite his youthful face, his eyes spoke volumes about his experience of the world. Thrain saw a flash of metal behind his waistcoat, but could not determine if it was a knife before the red cloak of the hobbit hid it.

“Drogo Brandybuck. At your service.”

“And my name is Otho Baggins. At your service as well, your Majesty.”

 

The king glanced at his son, who seemed enraptured by the strange looks of the hobbits. There was barely anything known about them, aside of them being a wandering race, who had been chased out of their home land. Rumors had it that they loved good food and were the creation of Yvanna, their Maker’s wife. But such claims were never proven by their scholars.

He then looked back at them and saw no hesitation, nor fear in them. They did not seem impressed by the halls of Erebor, even less by the gold and rich woven clothes that the royal family adorns. Albeit the most noble looking one of the four wore a silken waistcoat, they had all the stature of well trained soldiers. They did not not seem to bother with jewelry, difficult hairstyles or anything dwarvish like. They wore no uniforms or symbols on them. And yet, you only needed one glance to know that they were on the same side - theirs and that of no one else.

“Where is your leader?” asked Thrain.

“He is belated.” repeated Otho. “He shall arrive this evening and will wish a private meeting with you.”

There was no question, no elaborate form of politeness, nor bowing or groveling of any sort while he talked. The hobbits did not conserve any forms of etiquette. It was as if the title of King, Prince or any other sort meant little to them. But they were polite, and kept themselves from outright staring or questioning. It surprised him and made the king almost feel uncomfortable. But he was too curious to refuse their reqeust and nodded with a smile.

“That can be arranged to be done so after dinner.”

All four sighed in relief and bowed once more, large smiles on their lips.

“Thank you!”

 

\---

 

Frerin would have liked the company of the hobbits, Dis thought with amusement while watching they drank more ale and ate more food than possible for a dwarf. They were chattering away, quite loudly so and made her sons and cousins laugh and gasp in surprise. It was unusual to see Dwalin agree with someone out loud and relax enough to start a drinking contest with two of them, instead of hovering over Thorin as he always did since her brother’s last excursion.  But then, the crown prince was still enraptured by the hobbits and there was thus no fear of him trying to flee.

 

They brought stories about their prince, who tried to face the pale orc a year ago, hoping to ambush and kill the monster in the Greenfields before it reached Khazad-Dum. The thin hobbit spoke with large gestures and words about the fight.

“And he cut his arm clean off!” told Fortinbras Took in a boasting manner. “But Azog managed to escape with some of his men. And Bilbo was too tired to move any longer. We have to thank that piece of oak he used as shield for protecting him against the orc's heaviest blows. Or we wouldn’t have but pieces of a prince left.”

“Why haven’t you started to call him Bilbo Oakenshield then?” questioned Kili, who was enraptured by the hobbit’s tale. “We would have, if somthing like that happened to one of us.”

“We’re not much for titles.” answered Drogo with a shrug. “Far too much of a hassle. We go by our family names, those are the ones that truly says about our strength and heritage. Not to mention that we used that branch in a fire.”

Some dwarrow choked on their wine, shocked about how the hobbits treated the almost sacred saving piece of oak. But none dared to argue about it, fearing to displease the smaller beings.

“So where is he?” asks Fili, who despite trying to look like a proper prince, unlike his brother, had a gleam in his eyes.

“He went to help Dale.” answers the one who had told them the story of the Second Battle of Greenfield. “He hopes to get some support from King Bard afterwards.”

Dis nodded, as well as the others present. Dale had suffered of a terrible epidemic that had killed many of the men living there. They had been powerless, not having been able to find the cure for the strange illness. Dwarrow had been immune to it and the only thing they could do was taking care of the ill ones, feeding them and keeping them warm. It had been only a month since and King Bard was trying his best to keep Dale flourishing once more. He had lost his wife to the illness and since then, they hadn’t had much news from him.

“He gathered some plants from our homeland that could prevent a new outburst of the sickness, along with instructions for the healers.” murmured Hamfast in his strange sounding brogue. “Prince Bilbo is well known for his healing skills.”

“He is a healer?” asks Balin surprised. “What about his duties as a prince?”

Drogo snickered and the one next to him shook his head before taking a large swig of his ale.

“It is part of his duties to be a capable healer. The King is for us a symbol of strength and resources, on which we can rely. If the King is also a healer as well as a fighter, it is for the best. King Bungo preferred becoming a weaver than a healer though, but that’s fine since Queen Belladonna runs the hospital.” explains Otho.

“Prince Bilbo has never been very good at fitting in the mold though.” continues Fortinbras. “Always running off. He’s the one who came up with the information about Azog wanting to move to Moria, y’know.”

The shy member of the hobbit dug an elbow in his side and the chattering creature shrugged. Balin supposed it was a secret that he had just divulged and it confirmed his thoughts about him being quite young.

Prince Thorin seemed interested in wanting to know more, but kept his tongue to Balin and Dis’ pleasure. He was learning and was gaining wisdom with every passing year. Had they come a year or ten earlier, no doubt the young prince would have showered them with questions that were better left alone.

 

But another dwarf, a noble had no such restraints.

“What’cha mean?” the khazad slurred, a bit tipsy from his great amounts of drinks. “He’s a spy?”

“A burglar.” announced the talkative hobbit, ignoring the second elbow in his side. “And stop it Otho! Everyone knows what our prince is, so who cares they do as well?”

“Learn to keep your mouth shut, Fortinbras!” snaps Otho back. “You Tooks are naught but trouble when asked to keep secrets.”

Before a fight could break out, Balin interrupted the two with a question of his own.

“Burglar? So he is a thief?”

Drogo shrugged, looking indifferent.

“He’s in luck that I’m in no position to chase him though, because he is a lot of trouble in his own way.”

Dis tried her best not to laugh and Thorin’s jaw had almost dropped open and Dwalin looked rather sympathetically at the hobbit, having the same issue with some thieves (and one in particular) himself. Dis looked interested, as well as Balin, whereas the rest of the room looked scandalized now, or uncomfortable. The hobbits did not seem to care or notice, for they continued to chatter as if nothing strange had been said. They ate, started singing and drank still copious amounts of ale that everyone wondered about where it went.

  
It was hours after the feast that the leader of the hobbits arrived before the gates of Erebor.


	4. Of travel companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince signs the contract, but Bilbo isn't sure if he wants him to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for the kudos and comment! It really makes me very happy. I apologize for the irregular updates. Despite having some chapters done ahead, my own life schedule is less than ideal for posting. But I hope I can keep it up with one, maybe two chapters a month. 
> 
> All possible mistakes and spelling errors are all mine, since I still don't have a beta-reader.

# IV. Of travel companions

 

Bilbo was invited the evening before he and his friends would leave in the dwarven king’s office. Thrain was once more with Balin, the thirteen contracts on his desk. Three of them were unsealed. The others were untouched.

The hobbit’s only reaction to them was to tilt his head.

“We could not find you thirteen companions who were willing to face Azog without an army.” begins the King. “But we found you some still.”

He gestures towards the heavy parchment and Bilbo opens them, reading the names at the bottom. His eyebrows shot up with the last name, looking at Thrain and then back at the paper.

“I cannot guarantee for his safety. Nor will I be responsible for his fate. Those are out of my hands.” he tells the king honestly.

“We supposed as much.” Thrain answers in a serene manner. “Thorin knows what he signed up for. He did ask for it after all.”

Bilbo tilts his head once more, eyes full of concern and surprise.

“My Lord...Has Prince Thorin ever left Erebor? Even for a simple patrol?”

The dwarrow looked guilty at his question and Bilbo sighed at their expressions. He leaned back, folding the contract that Thorin signed. He did not mind having Thorin around - he seemed like a reasonable enough dwarf and who had some experience in wielding weapons. But he was everything but battle seasoned. Reading Dwalin and Balin’s names had been more of a reassurance.

“We lost Frerin when he was Thorin’s age. Barely an adult. We feared too much and as result coddled him. We hoped that this would do him some good. The contract states that those who come along are free to leave any time. Thorin knows his limits, so we were quite sure that if it became too dangerous, he’d return home.” continued Thrain, sounding now like a worried father. Much like how Bungo had sounded when Bilbo left home.

The hobbit sighed again. He understood the reasoning. But he had noticed how Thorin had a thirst to prove himself and that he had his own pride. Adding to that, he was stubborn and the hobbit doubted that Thorin would ever allow himself to turn back upon something he signed up for.

“I was planning on leaving tomorrow, but I can delay our journey for one more day, if you’d allow me. I need to talk to your son first.”

Thrain nodded at his request.

 

\---

 

“You look bothered, cousin.” groused Drogo out when Bilbo entered their common room.

The younger hobbit was polishing his boar spear, that was indeed in need for some care.

“Thrain wishes us to take Thorin with us.”

“The green grasshopper?”

Bilbo chuckled at the nickname his cousin gave the dwarrow prince and sat down on one of the plush chairs in front of the fire.

“He was hoping that Thorin would know when to turn back when it’d become too dangerous.”

Drogo snorted and stopped in his actions.

“Because you can just leave in the midst of battle, can you? I don’t want him with us. It’d be too dangerous already with dwarrow who breathe so loud I could skewer them blindly in the dark. But if we have to babysit along the way, we’d be dead in no time!”

Bilbo didn’t answer and stared into the fire, the thirteen contracts still in his hands. Then, after a minute of suffering Drogo’s scrutiny, he opened the one that Thorin has signed. He agreed with his cousin, but something was making him leaning towards taking the dwarf with them (and Bilbo was convinced that if he refused to take the prince, he’d still run after them. Or do something else, equally as stupid). And Drogo, dear Drogo who was his favorite cousin, started protesting vehemently.

“No! I will not have it to take a, a, a dwarfling with us!”

“He is considered as an adult in the eyes of his kin. And you do not have much to say upon that subject and you know it.”

“I have seen more battles, death and pain than he has.” spat the younger hobbit.

“I was not aware that such things were meant to be a competition.” murmured Bilbo back.

Drogo’s jaw snapped shut and Bilbo heard him rummaging to pick up his things and a minute later the echo of a door slammed shut came from the hallway of their little house. The prince rolled his eyes and tutted at the lack of manners that his friend showed. But he found himself incapable of blaming him. Drogo had seen too much already and had still fought with tooth and nails to be permitted to come along. Seeing someone with no experience whatsoever allowed to come along without much trouble ought to bring some sentiments of jealousy and anger to the surface. And Bilbo was prepared to suffer through them if the crown prince could convince him to take him along.

 

About half an hour later, Bilbo decided to retire to his own room and fell into a comfortable slumber.

 

\---

 

Thorin found Bilbo before the hobbit could even begin searching for the dwarven prince. It was early in the morning and Bilbo had decided to go for breakfast in the common hall,  so he could take another good look at Erebor’s grandiose architecture.

“Prince Bilbo!” the prince called out.

Thorin looked ready to travel. His clothes and furs were still of high quality, but they did not have the same copious amount of embroideries and jewelry on them. The crown was absent from his head and simple silver clasps held his various braids. He was smiling and looked excited even.

‘Like a puppy.’ Bilbo’s mind supplied. And he felt guilt for even wanting to drag the prince along with him.

“Prince Thorin.” he greeted back, once the dwarf was close enough. “We delayed our leave by one day. I wished to speak with you.”

Thorin, who had regained his composure as proper prince, nodded solemnly. He had heard all that from Thrain already, but had preferred to be prepared - in case the hobbits were going to leave him behind.

“Father informed me. I wanted to make it easier for you, no doubt that Balin or Dwalin will drag me off to something important later on.”

Bilbo chuckled, having noticed how the dwarrow were requiring the prince’s full attention throughout the day. He was pleased to see that Thorin had decided to face the first consequences of having signed the contract.

 

When they were finally seated to eat, Bilbo breached the subject without delicacy.

“Me and my friends are considering to refuse your presence in our company.”

Thorin’s face fell and he stared at the hobbit in disbelief and disappointment.

“But why? I’m the best in the arena along with Dwalin! I can fight! I swear upon the crown that I will do all I can to help you regain your homeland back.”

“Lad,” started Bilbo, which made Thorin bristle and understand that trying to placate him would not work. So he sighs and shakes his head. “It is not your courage that we doubt, but your lack of experience. Have you ever slept elsewhere but in a warm bed? Have you ever suffered eating cram day in and out? Have you ever had an injury that could not be taken care of immediately in the Healing Halls of your kingdom? Walk everyday, or ride on horseback without a break every so many hours only stopping when it is time to sleep? Going through rain, snow and wondering why you left your home?”

Thorin remained silent, looking rebellious, frowning in disagreement. Bilbo could see the coddled prince in there, but also a man who wished to prove his worth. He was strong, no doubt, loyal, stubborn and brash. His long black hair, streaked with some silver strands, was  plaited and held together, his beard short. He had understood that by tradition the prince did not wear a luxurious beard like his father as long he was alive, but the bead and single braid that hung from his chin told the world that he was of high birth. Bilbo found all that far too difficult and superfluous. Hobbits distinguished themselves by name and maybe by what they wore as quality of clothing. But it was clear that Thorin was attached to his people's traditions. And Bilbo could not fault him for that.

“If you come along, titles will be for naught.” Bilbo continued. “Even mine will be left behind, forgotten among us. I will be the leader, because I have a map and knowledge to guide us through our journey. But you will be of equal status as Hamfast, who is a gardener and simple foot soldier.”

The prince’s eyes took a dark color and a frown appeared on his eyebrows. He did not like the idea of being lowered to the status of a commoner, but Bilbo did not allow him to think too much about it.

“There will be no warm beds to welcome us in every night. I cannot even guarantee that we’ll have enough food throughout the journey. We will face enemies, be them goblin, orc, men or even elf if it comes to that. We will not rest much, you will have to keep watch, do various tasks and chores. And fight.”

The hobbit sipped at his tea and smiled at the warm brew that filled his belly with a pleasant feeling. It would be a long time before he could relish of such luxury again. Even when they’d be done reconquering the Shire, there would be no time to brew such good things.

“The fights will not be the same as in the arena. No rules, no stopping at first blood. If you lose your weapon, there is a high chance you’ll never see it again. Even if Master Dwalin plays dirty, it will be nothing compared to the enemy. You could die.”

“I do not fear death. Or pain.” groused Thorin out, who looked thunderous to be lectured by the soft looking creature.

But Bilbo showed no fear before his anger and kept on holding the warm cup in his hands. He smiled instead, almost sadly at the dwarf and nodded towards Drogo, who was eating with Otho and Balin, a few tables further. Thorin took a good look at his scarred face and at how tense he sat, the boar spear still close to him.

 

“Drogo is twenty-seven. A tween by our kind’s standards. But he has seen battle already, having come with me to the second Greenfield Battle.” explained the hobbit prince. “He lost his father there and his only brother and many cousins. He lost two fingers and almost lost his foot. There is a thick scar under his black curls, you might see it if you squint.”

Thorin did squint and managed to catch a glimpse of some reddish trace on top of the right foot. Drogo looked up at that same moment, glaring at the dwarf so fiercely that he looked away. Bilbo chuckled and waved at his cousin who gave him in return a roll of the eyes with a small smile.

“He has nightmares every single night. He does well to cover them up, but in the first weeks he was howling for his father and brother, crying out in pain and fear. He was a smiling lad, carefree and full of courage and strength like you.”

The hobbit was now piercing Thorin’s eyes with his own blue ones, filled with remorse and pain. It made him look older than he was, as if he had the heaviest weight upon his shoulders. It was a look that he shared with his king, Thorin realized.

“I cannot forgive myself for what happened to him. Because I was the one who asked him to be at my side, despite I knew the dangers and risks I put upon his head.”

The hobbit then tore his gaze away and went back to eating his breakfast. Thorin did not answer, but had understood the underlying message. Bilbo would not be able to forgive himself if anything happened to him. And suddenly, the dwarf wasn’t so sure anymore if he wanted to come with him.


	5. Of certain additions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! I apologize for the wait. Life hasn't been all that nice to me, not to mention that studies and work get in the way. Ah well, I hope that the next update will be swifter. Thank you once more to all those who gave me kudos and comments. They are a real encouragement!

# V. Of certain additions

 

“All ready to go?” asks Otho while he finished settling his packs on his pony.

Dwalin grunted in the background and Drogo was already riding out, not bothering to answer like the other hobbits. Balin was riding next to Bilbo, wearing simple travelling clothes, all sort of jewelry or signs of nobility gone from his person. His brother still looks just as rugged in his furs and leather, warhammer and axes strapped to his back. The hobbits hadn’t bothered to change, having everything that was needed on them already. Only Otho seemed to have changed his waistcoat, wearing a cotton green one. The dwarrow still didn’t understand the need for waistcoats above all for the hobbits, but Hamfast told them to compare it to the need of wearing braids and beards.

“Then we are leaving.” ordered Bilbo, who spurred his pony ahead of Drogo’s.

And they left Erebor behind.

 

\---

 

The silence in the group was tense, which was caused by Fortinbras, who had not been able to keep his mouth shut.

“Wasn’t the prince laddie to come with us?” the Took had asked after they had left Erebor behind an hour ago.

The oldest Baggins moaned in despair at the lack of tact from his companion. Hamfast had stiffened, feeling tension rising from the dwarrow and Bilbo made a point of avoiding to look back at all costs.

“He didn’t come after all.” says Drogo. “The grasshopper wouldn’t survive a day without his cozy comforts.”

“Don’t you dare!” starts Dwalin, making himself taller on his pony.

“He is useless.” continues the hobbit who isn’t the slightest impressed by the dwarf’s bulk. “He’s a pampered boy who’s never seen blood shed or ever had to worry for his life!”

“He is Erebor’s prince and you owe him your respect!” snaps Dwalin.

“He is no prince of mine and if he backs away before the smallest chance of danger, then he is not fit as a prince!” roars Drogo.

“And that is quite enough.” says Bilbo, who brings his pony between the two of them. “I was hoping for allies, not distrustful strangers. Prince Thorin’s choice was his and probably the wisest considering the circum-”

He stopped in the midst of his speech and with the other hobbits, they turned their heads towards the trail they had left behind. Fortinbras, who had the sharpest eyesight of them all narrowed his eyes and placed a hand above them in attempt to hide them from the sun’s glare.

“I see three riders.” he said. “On ponies and approaching fast.”

Bilbo smiles at that, as well as Balin.

“So he’s coming after all.”

“I bet that his nephews are coming as well. I’ve never seen him going anywhere without those two trailing behind.” mumbles Otho with a weary sigh. “Are we going to wait for them, Bilbo?”

The hobbit prince nods, ignoring Dwalin’s smug talk to Drogo who growled back at him, still calling Thorin useless, just like his young nephews.

“Yes. But once they joined up, we’re moving once more. I’d like to reach Lake-Town before summer ends if that is agreeable with you all.”

The hobbits chuckled and Balin nodded with an affable smile. Dwalin remained his stern self, glaring at the younger warrior, but agreed with a rumble in his voice. Bilbo, once his back was turned to them sighed in relief, while digging for three contracts in his pack. He was glad that the prince of Erebor came after all. If only to keep his kinsman and the burly dwarf from eviscerating one another.

 

\---

 

He had almost stayed home. Thorin hadn’t slept well after his conversation with the hobbit prince, and spent the rest of the day after breakfast brooding in the library. No one would come to find him there, as no one ever suspected him to find books out of his own will. And the librarians would remain silent about his presence, if only because he had glared at them when they tried to help him.

No one came to bother him until the evening. His nephews had found him brooding in a dark corner with old books about genealogies, staring into nothingness.

“Uncle Thorin!” called Kili out with a large grin. “Grandad was worried you had gone out.”

Of course he was. Vili had at least participated in skirmishes and gone out on patrols. He himself had barely set a foot outside of the mountain if only to visit Dale, surrounded by a large escort. When he survived his first assassination attempt, he was forbidden to leave his quarters for a month and the year after that, his father assigned him a permanent presence that had to walk with him wherever he went. Luckily it had been Dwalin or he would’ve murdered someone. After that year, he was finally left to his own devices, allowed to perfect his craft.

He had never questioned his father’s actions, for he knew the reasons. But it had not helped him much and he knew that now.

“Why are you here?”

“To tell you that we packed, of course.” explained Fili.

“Packed?” repeated Thorin flabbergasted.

“Mum’s given us permission to go.” said Kili with a grin.

“After we badgered her ears off for days.”

“Grandad didn’t want us to go, but Mum wouldn’t hear it. She said it would do her some good.” Fili made a face. “And Dad added that they were going to try to make us a baby sister. Either way, we are going.”

“And you too. She’s packing your bags right now.”

“My bags?”

“Of course! You signed the contract, right?”

“Yes, but-”

Kili whooped in joy and both siblings started to drag him out of the confines of the library.

If Thorin had needed a sign to leave the mountain, then that was it.

 

But he still felt uneasy at the idea of leaving Erebor. Because he had seen Drogo Brandybuck, Bilbo’s cousin. He feared to have one day the same eyes as him, dark, almost cold and full of pain and mistrust. His smiles never reach them and he seems ready to throw himself into danger, as if he wished to die. He had also seen the others, Fortinbras with his reckless youth and yet wise eyes and Otho’s careful threading while looking melancholic. And Hamfast, the shy member of the company, looking lost in the midst of warriors while still sharing their bearing and bitter smiles when old battle stories come up. Bilbo seems to be the only one unharmed from the wandering, but he doubts it. Kings and leaders were those who bore the heaviest weight of them all and had to keep up a tough front.

He feared that he would turn into something sour and brooding, as many dwarrow had. Many, after the war against Angmar, had become prone to violence and prejudice as well was misplaced pride.

He just hoped that it would not come to that.

 

The next morning was a flurry of panic and excitement on the youngest dwarrow part. Kili and Fili, who had stayed behind and hidden from the hobbits, Balin and Dwalin, waited for him patiently but eagerly while chattering away. When Thorin finally stumbled out of his room and cursing his lack of discipline and order (he had overslept quite a bit, which was not in his habits and caused by his lack of sleep at night), the brothers dragged him through the kitchens (the kitchens! That was unheard of!) for some cram and fruit and then pushed him on his pony (pushed and dragged! He had lost all possible respect his nephews could have had for him, he was sure of it).

And moments later, he was galloping out of the gates of Erebor, leaving all his comforts behind as well as all chances for security.

 

And it felt liberating. He felt free, breathing and his blood was thrumming in his veins. Fili and Kili were cheering and it took all he had not to follow their example.

 

All three of them were out of breath when they finally joined the group. Dwalin and the hobbit warrior were glaring at one another, but the others had a smile on their lips. Bilbo handed the contracts for Kili and Fili along with a pen. His nephews signed with a flourish (or as well as Kili could manage because his penmanship was horrid) and returned it. Bilbo put them in his pack and the nodded in his direction, his eyes full with respect.

Thorin puffed his chest out,  feeling proud with himself and decided to ride next to his best friend Dwalin, who seemed all the happier with it.

 

 


	6. Of unpleasant situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and I apologize for the terribly long wait for the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

# VI. Of unpleasant situations

 

Fili and Kili’s good mood throughout the week highly irritated Thorin. His whole body hurt, muscles stiff and thighs burning from sitting for so long on a saddle. He wasn’t old. He was in his prime and a strong dwarf, thank you very much.

He had to admit that, riding on the pony, day in day out, and smell like the animal, was unpleasant. Have no proper rest because his back could only feel stones protrude through his bedroll, exhausted him. And the lack of roof and thick walls to keep the cold out, put him in a foul mood. But he bit his tongue. Bilbo had warned him after all, of the troubles of being on a journey (adventure, his mind whispered) and the pains he might be feeling.

When he glanced towards Dwalin and Balin, neither Fundinson seemed bothered. They were their usual self, the warrior silent like a grave and Balin discussing one or another political point with Otho. Drogo was silent as well, avoiding Dwalin and him on all costs, but did not hesitate to say some unsavory words about his person when around the fire for dinner. Thorin still couldn’t get over his anger about being named ‘Green Grasshopper’ and ‘Dwarfling’. But the hobbit was a good hunter and a good nightwatch,  as well as friend and family of Bilbo, so he didn’t complain. Much. Fortinbras was already fast friends with his nephews and every morning he feared for his sanity and safety with them on the run. Hamfast was still shy and almost only spoke to Bilbo, who always had a smile for the gardener. It made Thorin somewhat jealous, for he wished to have the other prince’s attention too. Bilbo on his part showed no fatigue nor signs of discomfort. In matter of fact, compared to Otho and Fortinbras, he seemed to be the most at ease on his pony, always having something for her. Myrtle, he had even named the kind animal. And because of his resilience, Thorin would not say a word about the burns between his legs and the pains in his shoulders and back.

 

Bilbo had noticed the other prince’s discomfort. He had seen his thunderous looks towards his nephews and Fortinbras when they were just a tad too loud or happy sounding. He had ignored the longing looks he received whenever he talked to Hamfast about gardening and hopes for the future. He wanted Thorin to come to him and ask for his company.

But as a healer, he could not avoid breaching the subject about the pains Thorin endured. So one evening, after dinner, he approached the dwarf with his healing bag slung over his shoulder.

“Let us find a more private spot for this.” he said without preamble. “I’ll take care of those pains you are having.”

The prince glared in return and the hobbit waited for him to find his senses. But he didn’t and after five good minutes, Bilbo had lost his patience. He did not wish to deal with too much stubbornness before going to bed and even less with the foolish pride the dwarf was showing. So he hauled Thorin up with all his strength (which was more than one expected) and forced him to follow him into the bushes. Fili, Kili and Fortinbras would no doubt make salacious stories about that later, but he found himself incapable to care.

'Let them have their fun.' he thought with a small smile.

 

“Off with your breeches.”

Thorin starts to splutter, blushing in a red color that would make his father’s tomatoes put to shame.

“Oh, for Yvanna’s sake, Thorin!” snaps the hobbit, feeling his ears redden as well at the insinuation. “I am going to help you put some salve on your burns and show you how to give yourself a massage so you will not hurt as much while on horseback. I am a healer, now off with your pants!”

He hears wolf whistling from the fire and Thorin roars something in Khuzdul, which makes them go silent. The dwarf is still blushing while taking off his garment, but does not protest anymore.

Five minutes later, he came out from the bushes along with an impassive looking Bilbo, his ears still red under his heavy black hair. But he had to admit that he didn’t miss the throbbing between his legs and that the good night of rest that followed was refreshing.

 

But he was even happier when Laketown finally came into view and that he could finally have a real bed to sleep in.

 

\---

 

“Why are we here, Bilbo?” asks Kili while trying to see everything at the same time like a newborn babe.

“To look for funds.” answers the hobbit prince. “Resplenish our provisions, get some rest. And maybe find some allies. Maybe.”

The dwarrow gaped at him in disbelief and Balin found himself struggling not to groan out loud. First thirteen dwarrow and four hobbits to retake the Shire and now he discovered they had no funds? He wondered if Bilbo was doing this on purpose or if hobbits had no idea on how to handle such things. But neither of the four hobbits seemed alarmed and followed their leader through the small town.

 

Lake-town smelled like fish, murky waters and rotting wood. Equality seemed to be a long forgotten thing and poorly dressed urchins and women crowded the streets. On the marketplace, they got to see some finer dressed gents and women, who stood out between the brown and grey rags.

Balin found himself feeling repulsed by the fine clothes, which was unlike himself. So he keeps silent and his eyes on their leader who walks in front of them.

Dwalin is held back by Drogo of all people. Both warriors grasp their respective weapons and almost interfered several times, but Bilbo and Otho’s looks keep them in line.

Bilbo shows no signs of pity, pain or anger, but his eyes are ablaze and his steps firm and strong. Hamfast bites his lip until it bleeds and Fortinbras along with the youngest have gone silent. Otho walks right behind Bilbo, but he looks angry and avoids eye contact with anyone.

As for Thorin, his eyes are wide in wonder and horror. Balin doesn’t attempt to soothe him. He had come to see the world with them after all and there was nothing he could say to console the prince.

 

They were received by the Master of the town. He is fat, ugly and a sneaky fellow. Bilbo shows no hesitation in showing his dislike for him, but the man doesn’t seem deterred.

“Please, allow Laketown to show you it’s hospitality!”

Bilbo seemed interested in telling him no, but still nods. None of the company seemed happy any longer to sleep in a feather bed after seeing that many did not enjoy the same luxuries.

 

A whole house is offered to them. It is richly decorated and freshly painted unlike many of the other buildings. They have a room for each member of the company and even more. Bilbo spends little time sleeping and pours hours over the books that are on the shelves and writing letters that are sent off by a raven. But he doesn’t talk about the Master, unless prompted and then he’d make sure to keep his sentences clipped. The Durin siblings have gone exploring every day with Fortinbras and Hamfast spends a lot of time on the market with Otho. Thorin goes every day training with Dwalin and Balin, leaving Drogo to watch over Bilbo. The hobbit soldier seems more and more bored with every day passing, but refuses to abandon his post, even when Dwalin proposes to take his place.

“You’d manage to do a shoddy job of it.” Drogo snaps at the dwarf the first time. And then “You’d manage to lose Bilbo even if he stood only a foot away from you.” the second. Dwalin does not insist any more after that.

 

A week passed and Bilbo refused to leave the house or to talk to the Master, who promised them funds. Balin and Otho were those who took care of him, promising every day a response from their leader who remained silent.

Balin tried to coax, Otho would berate for his immature attitude, but Bilbo would not be deterred. He was not going to talk to the Master, not even when threatened to have his bits cut off by Drogo himself. When Fili and Kili threatened to leave the company, he  replied that they wouldn’t and the siblings deflated at that. But when Thorin declared he would not stay any longer if they were to linger aimlessly, Bilbo lost his patience.

“And you’d take the stolen money of the poor?” he hissed. “I refuse to take it. I know what we must do and it shall be done. But we need patience.”

And that was that. Bilbo was the leader after all and not even Thorin’s glares and Hamfast quiet demands could deter him. The hobbit had guided them to Lake-town in hope to find funds. He would get them somehow and if not, indeed, he would leave. 


End file.
